Tabula Rasa
by WhoIsAtlas
Summary: Junichi Aishi is a broken man but he's got one last spark of rebellion in him. On a day when Ryoba steps out to go shopping he decides to do the unthinkable. The best laid plans of mice and men, though, have a way of going awry.
1. Chapter 1

**Tabula Rasa**

A drabble that came to me earlier this week about a premise I'm not sure I've actually seen done yet in the LoveSick/Yandere Simulator fan fic writing community. You can consider its premise a slight AU given what we've seen thus far about the game's back story. Happy (early) Father's Day.

Mr. Aishi doesn't have an official name in canon yet, but I decided to go with Junichi as, based on an entry on Behind the Name, it's a combination of the characters for 'obey/submit,' 'pure,' and 'one.'

* * *

"…I tried, please believe me.  
I'm doing the best that I can.  
I'm ashamed of the things I've been put through,  
I'm ashamed of the person I am."  
\- Joy Division, "Isolation" (1980)

The house feels surprisingly still for the middle of the day.

It's not a feeling that Junichi Aishi – no, he has to remind himself, when _she_ isn't home he's Junichi Fukunaga once more – is used to. Every moment of every day and in every second of every minute in each hour, there is a pair of eyes on him. It's a kind of tension that would be hard to describe if he could ever find the courage within him to tell his story to someone, anyone, who might listen. He thinks it might be the same sort of pregnant pause that soldiers must feel when they know that an enemy awaits them on the battlefield but no shooting has begun yet. The only difference between those men and himself is that despite the horrific cost they will face there is always an end for them though whether in death's embrace or the shell-shocked aftermath of victory it doesn't matter. For Junichi there are only brief moments he can claim are truly his own and it's been that way ever since he moved in with _her_.

'Trapped,' he corrects himself bitterly. 'No need to let the Stockholm syndrome slip in that much.'

Today is one of those days. _She_ had gone out to shop at the open air market in Buraza to fetch them pork cutlets for dinner tonight, among other things, about an hour ago now and he will have to work quickly if he's to succeed in his plan. He tries not to think of the empty smile that ghosted _her_ face as _she_ told him _she'd_ be back as soon as _she_ could, normally hollow eyes lighting up to give the impression of human affection, but unable to mimic it if one were paying enough attention. _She's_ grown more trusting of him now since the birth of the monster. Perhaps _she_ thinks that by having something that is theirs he won't dare try what he's been planning ever since they returned home from the hospital.

 _She_ needs to be wrong just once.

The monster's room isn't far away from theirs; it's right across the hall, in fact. His fingers steady themselves on the smooth surface of the sliding door as Junichi closes his eyes. What he is about to do is only right and if there was anyone to watch he's sure that no one would blame him. All he's been through at _her_ tender mercies… it's not a fate he would wish on his worst enemy. _She_ will cry, approximating real tears, but he knows that she'll never make the connection between the monster's slaying and his whereabouts today. Try as _she_ might he'll find ways to prevent _her_ from delivering any more hell spawn into the world. Perhaps Junichi will try to set up an appointment for a vasectomy in the future. He'll have to be careful of course. Baby fever is real, he knows, and sure to be at a pitch when it's compounded by grief.

He draws back the door and steps into the room. It's surprisingly pleasant, if he does say so himself. Junichi had even told _her_ that it was his responsibility as the male half of an expecting couple to take the initiative to prepare it. _She_ had deferred to him as usual as he'd picked out the wallpaper covered in swirling pastels, the milky white chairs and changing station, and even the handsome oak crib in the center whose polished handles gleamed just so when the sunlight streamed in. It was downright picturesque. If circumstances were different, Junichi might have even been proud of himself for setting it all up.

Junichi pushes himself forward. His window of opportunity gets smaller and smaller with each passing second he knows and he can't afford to back out now. Nor can he think much about the implications of his decision either as any self-reflection would surely stop him in his tracks. He has no illusions that what he is going to do is fundamentally wrong. The monster's nature hasn't surfaced yet but it will in time. The shell it bears is no excuse for all the misery it can unleash if he doesn't nip it in the bud now when he has the chance. Yet none of that reassurance seems to matter as he steps through the threshold and into its lair. His heart which had moments ago been as steady and calm as he could manage is doing overtime as he feels adrenaline begin to course through his veins.

Making his way to the would-be bed he sees it there lying in wait for him, totally unaware and prone. If he were to allow sentimentality to creep into this he might even go so far as to say that his intended victim is cute. Sitting there in a pink jinbei, the monster's chest slowly rises and falls, head resting gently against a sizable plush tanuki which his parents had dropped off the last time they'd visited during Golden Week. He tries not to pay attention to its rosy, chubby cheeks or a nose that reminds him oh so much of photos he'd seen of his grandmother. There can be no attachment between them; not now, not ever. But more than that Junichi tries to avoid its dark gray hair, thin as it is on its tiny head, and lips that even in sleep have formed a distinctive pout. If nothing else it steels his resolve to see this through to the end. Those things are _hers_ , not his.

He can remember the day she was conceived as clearly as what he'd had for lunch the other day at the Saikou corporate headquarters. It had been a Saturday when he'd been awoken by a pair of needy hands and met with a ravenous gaze on opening his eyes. _She_ did this at times, sometimes with his permission, and sometimes without. On _her_ better days _she_ would ask him what he wanted to do in their bedroom, even letting him decline _her_ advances if _she_ felt magnanimous enough on rare occasions and Junichi hates how good _she_ feels to be inside of and how wonderful _her_ tongue manages to be against his most sensitive areas. Other days there is no choice in the matter. _She_ would pin him to the mattress and suddenly he would be a scared high school student tied to an ancient creaking chair in the basement (a place he can't go to now without breaking into a cold sweat), eyes shrunk to pinpricks and his breathing haggard as _she_ straddled him, planting sloppy kisses all over him, over and over and over, _"Tell me you love me, darling…"_ , _"I don't even know who you–"_

The audible cracking of his knuckles brings him out of his stupor and Junichi releases a grip on the crib's railing he didn't even know he'd had.

He slowly reaches for one of the unused pillows by the creature's head, removing it with all the skill of an experienced Jenga player. Junichi barely trusts himself enough to breathe at this point for fear of waking his target. It's a quiet thing – on its best days he can even forget that it sits in this place at all until _she_ asks him to check on it. Aside from the occasional murmur of discomfort to signal it needs a diaper change or to be fed Junichi might even go so far as to say it's a baby that most parents could only dream of having. All of the supposed long nights that plague young couples haven't hit him yet and he expects they never will. But he knows that it's all an act, a ruse meant to fool him and the world from its instinctual nature. He knows firsthand what it will be like when its kind grows up. He doesn't know how big _her_ family is. Junichi doesn't even know if _she_ has siblings, but it doesn't matter. Even if his act of rebellion will be known only to him and him alone, he at least fought against the fate he's long since acquiesced to with a whimper every night when _she_ wraps her arms around his midsection like a vice as they fall asleep.

Junichi weighs the small object in his hands for a moment, feeling its cottony softness. He'll be as gentle as he can with it as he pushes it down onto its face; he knows it won't cry. 'Sudden infant death syndrome, I'm afraid,' says the imaginary doctor in his mind. 'We don't know the reasons for why they go. Sometimes… accidents like this just happen.' Oh, he'll weep alongside _her_ then for appearances, but it'll all be a show. _She_ brought it into this world. Junichi's practically doing the world a favor by ridding it of the vermin before him. But as he looks quickly away from the murder weapon and back to his target he realizes his mistake. He should've been quicker to do the deed.

Its eyes have begun to flutter and for a moment Junichi forgets his plan, wanting more than anything to slam the object in his hands into its face and push down as hard as he can. He's so close and there's no guarantee he'll get an opportunity like this for a long, long time and by that point an excuse might not be so easy. The opportunity literally lying in front of him is slipping out of his grasp. His hands hover in place over the monster's head as he lowers the offending object. 'Don't look,' he thinks as he tries to steady nerves which have begun to light themselves in panic over this latest setback. 'If you do that, you'll never be able to go through with it. You're no murderer. You're not _her_.'

This is it.

Do or die.

He can't feel guilty for destroying something whose only purpose is to perpetuate a cycle of abuse that is decades, if not centuries, old. What he's doing is only _right_. Karma be damned, if he has to return in penance as some lower lifeform, he will. What Junichi is about to do is nothing but a mercy to the unsuspecting men beyond this house's walls. The blood shared between them is as meaningless as the so-called marriage he's been forced into. Junichi is totally and utterly alone in this hell. If _she_ will never let him go then this might very well be the last act of defiance he can muster and, by all the gods in heaven, he will have it.

If Junichi were a more observant man, however, he might have been able to avoid many things.

He might have avoided _her_ or at least able to incriminate her with something if he'd paid more attention to the girls who had slowly left or disappeared from Akademi one by one after they seemed to show some interest in him. He might have avoided _her_ wolf in sheep's clothing act about being too frightened to walk home with a murderer on the loose. Junichi might have avoided the chloroform rag that _she'd_ brought along to use once they were navigating through one of Buraza's alleyways. If he'd pulled out a little sooner he might not even have to destroy his innocence like he is attempting to at this very moment.

But most importantly, Junichi might have avoided taking a minute too long to do the deed.

His breath hitches in his throat as he meets the gaze of a pair of slate gray eyes staring up at him from the crib solemnly. No. **No**. This can't be happening. It isn't fair. All this time, trying to steel his nerves just right to do what he's had to build himself up to for months ever since he found out _she_ was pregnant… it's slipped away from him. The pillow falls from his hands and bounces onto the soft bedding of the crib with a quiet plop. He can't do this. Not now, not after making eye contact with it. A foolish part of Junichi doesn't want the last thing for it to see being a father who doesn't want it but instead whatever pleasant dreams are dancing through its head. It's why he hasn't downed an entire bottle's worth of sleeping pills yet himself.

There's nothing that fills him with warmth left in him.

He collapses to his knees, his hands sliding down the bars of its cage. Junichi wants so many things in this moment. He wants to scream, cry, run away and never look back from this place (as pointless as he knows that endeavor to be), to be the man in the photographs that litter his prison whose smile is genuine and not part of a carefully constructed mask, perhaps even more so than _hers_ is, and to feel some sort of remorse for having contemplated for so long taking a child's life. Instead Junichi feels the same deadened feeling he has felt ever since he came to live here sink in once more.

Seconds turn into what Junichi is sure are minutes as he sits there, kneeling before his former target, shaking the bars of the crib as if he were the infant instead. It was foolish to think that he could ever hope to take control of his situation. _She_ was right: there was nothing left for him outside and certainly no reason to do anything other than follow _her_ whims. All he had to do was give up, to stop hoping that there would be a light at the end of the tunnel, and he would be free at last. Junichi had heard _her_ casually mention before in passing that her father had been a man whose mind had never recovered whatever trauma it'd suffered when _her_ mother had broken him. He is both empathetic and envious at the same time towards a complete stranger.

Lost in his own despair, Junichi almost doesn't notice the touch suddenly present against his left hand until he stops shuddering. But when at last he feels he's cried as many tears as he's able he finally turns towards the source of the sensation that has been resting against him. He's tried to psyche himself up today for a litany of fake emotions: shock, grief, even anger, but surprise is not one of them and more so when that the feeling is genuine. In the time he has taken to wallow in his own self-pity his target has taken upon itself the duty of moving one of its small hands out to him, tiny fingers splayed against him as if it can somehow bless him and free him of his would-be sin, its expression unwavering in how calm it is.

It takes all of Junichi's willpower to meet its – her – eyes and he finds that as soon as he does he wants to look away in shame. She had done nothing to him; none of this had been her fault. In a war against someone who seemed remorseless to the depths in which _she'd_ sink to keep _her_ happiness, he'd sunk down too. Bile begins to rise in the back of Junichi's throat as he tries desperately to mentally bargain with his daughter for forgiveness.

Daughter.

It's the first time he's ever ascribed that term to her. Oh, the hospital had told him that's what she was, her _mother_ told him that with a gleeful expression every single morning, but it was something he'd avoided altogether. It had been a foul word, a curse that was so awful he felt it shouldn't pass from his lips. But now it seemed appropriate to him. In her own way, she was just as much a victim of circumstance as Junichi was.

Picking himself up Junichi stares down at her. Features that had once seemed so alien, cruel that he could barely stomach them, no longer inspire that same sense of revulsion that they once had. Hesitating a moment, he reaches his arms down to pick up the girl, resting her head against the crook of his arm as he'd seen his aunt and uncle do countless times to his cousins when he was younger, her small body tucked close to his chest as he practically collapses onto the wicker chair next to her bed.

'Do all things begin in innocence?'

It's a question that floats to the surface of his mind without much prompting. It's hard to imagine at one point that _she_ could be anything but the monster he knows _her_ to be. But there must have been a time when even _she_ was in his daughter's place, defenseless and vulnerable, a tabula rasa waiting to be etched onto by the world's sculptors. His thoughts travel briefly to _her_ father, a living corpse of a man who saw, heard, tasted, smelled, and felt the world but at the same time couldn't. Junichi didn't blame him for retreating into himself. In its own way such a thing must have been like achieving nirvana. Yet had he fought as much as _her_ mother…

It was a dangerous line of thinking, Junichi knew. "Coulda, shoulda, woulda" was the eternal refrain of mankind. He was operating on a theory, perhaps even less than that, and it was something that he had no proof of. Perhaps this whole line of thinking was a sham and nature dictated everything. For her part, his daughter offers no support and no criticism to his reasoning. In the entire time since her departure from her little world, she has been totally silent, as per usual. Absently tugging on the neck of his white polo with his free hand, a nervous habit, a new plan begins to form, a desire for revenge borne out of anger at his failure and to atone for what he's tried to do.

"Your…" he has to steady himself to even the utter word, "…mommy isn't the only one here for you. I am too."

Tears begin to well in the corner of his eyes and he has to fight the urge to give the little girl an impromptu bath.

"I know I haven't… haven't been the best daddy, but I can change."

An understatement. She'll never know just how lucky she was in avoiding what she did. Nor will she ever. It's a secret he intends to take with him to his grave.

"I don't know if you can, but I'll try to help you change too. We can be _good_ together."

Images of his little girl over the years flash before him. Her first day of school, a broken arm from climbing a tree, sitting with other children at lunch, and, though he has to fight his way past his own desire to break into a panic, sitting across from someone and admiring them from afar. If she can't understand what it means to be kind, then he will teach her, help her, so that she understands that she doesn't have to be a monster.

"I…"

It's not a burden he's asked for but one he will undertake for everyone's sake. Leaning forward, Junichi places his lips as gently as he can to her forehead in a kiss.

"I love you, Ayano."

She will be her father's daughter.

He'll make sure of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tabula Rasa**

I know I said there wasn't going to be a chapter two but… well, plans change, alright? That said, I can say definitively there aren't going to be anymore after this.

Also: never miss an opportunity to roast the Saikou clan.

* * *

"I found a reason to keep living, oh, and the reason, dear, is you."

The Velvet Underground, "I Found a Reason" (1970)

A pair of tired, bleary eyes look back at Junichi from the mirror hanging in the hallway next to the front door.

Ten weeks. That was how long they'd been out of the country, traveling halfway across the world to track down the poor idiot who hadn't figured what was best for him and ruined his career to bring _her_ to justice. Now, again, for his trouble of not having the good sense to flee the country years ago he was lying dead in a makeshift grave (a refrigerator) in a Los Angeles junkyard, his skull beaten in so badly with a bat that even if the local authorities cared enough to run records on a freshly off the boat immigrant they'd probably never be able to properly identify him. Now all was at peace for _her_. No one knew what _she_ 'd done. Mr. Saikou and his family had made sure of that as best they could for reasons Junichi still didn't understand. The only person who might've been able to shine a light on _her_ crimes was gone, due to be forgotten by the world in dutiful fashion because of course he would be.

The universe, Junichi has found, hates him.

'At least it's let me keep my hairline.' The joke is pitiful, lame, and only voiced in his own head but at the very least he's managed to keep some of his wits about him after all these years. It was only a few weeks ago that he celebrated his 30th anniversary in hell with _her_.

His meager salary hadn't let them go to an expensive restaurant but _she_ had seemed mollified all the same when they'd gone to the Italian place a few blocks away; their outfits hadn't been more refined than what they normally wore for work: a suit and tie for him and a business dress for her. He'd bought a few bottles of wine to go along with their meal and, at least for a time, the alcohol had put _her_ in a good mood. When Junichi had helped his very tipsy 'wife' back to their home in the suburbs - taking _her_ across the threshold like a couple of newlyweds at the request which was not a request - to their bedroom, he'd had only moments to take off his suit jacket before _she_ 'd thrown _her_ underwear at him from halfway across the room.

 _"You didn't get me a present, darling."_

His breath had hitched in his throat at that.

He hadn't.

Oh gods, what was he going to-

 _"That's okay,"_ _she_ had purred, her eyes seeming to match the glow in _her_ cheeks. _"You can still make it up to me. Let's give Ayano a baby brother or sister."_

Somewhere in the present, Junichi stares at himself, almost pushing 50. His hair, once black as pitch, is fading gently into salt-and-pepper. With all the stress raising their daughter had brought him, even if he'd wanted to try once more, he couldn't bring himself to answer her. He can feel his skin crawl at the memory of obediently slipping his pants off without protest.

He failed _her_ again when _she_ never developed morning sickness afterwards. But it seemed that for once in his miserable life, _her_ usually spotless memory had failed _her_. Never again did _she_ bring up the subject and he dared not breach it for piquing _her_ interest again after that hazy night. Or maybe that had simply been _her_ twisted idea of foreplay, couched in nothing more than terms of how _she_ could bring something else twisted, malformed, into the world from her womb if _she_ wanted to. Junichi grimaces at his own internal monologue.

No, that's not true.

There'd been one exception to that rule.

Kicking off his shoes and putting them onto the rack - the idea that he's leaving his own troubles behind at the door is an irony that never escapes him - he makes his way down the darkened hall to a familiar door. _She_ had gone to bed early. Tired, _she_ 'd said, from the flight back to Japan and the ensuing jet lag it'd brought. _She'd_ bid him goodnight and had entered their room without so much as referring to him by _her_ pet name for him. There was no need to make him come with _her_ ; _she_ knew by now that after three decades he wasn't ever going to leave _her_ , even if _she_ didn't watch him like a hawk.

He raises his arm towards the barrier between him and the small ray of sunshine in his life. Much as he never thought he'd take to the role of being a father, the fact that tonight is a school night flashes through his mind as he raps the wood before him. Light spills out near his feet; it's merely a matter of if the occupant wants to talk with him.

"Come in," the dry monotone greets his ears.

Without hesitation, Junichi pulls on the handle and slides it open, letting himself into Ayano's bedroom. Time has slipped by so much since he first built her crib in here all these years ago. Now, there's a computer sitting on a desk where her changing station used to be, a TV with a game system set up where her toy chest once was, and a bookshelf lined from panel to panel with various manga titles whose names he always means to look at but never remembers to read. Ayano, too, is different. Instead of the infant he could hold in his arms and rock to sleep, she has blossomed into a beautiful young woman (no matter how much she reminds him of _her_ ). Prominent cheekbones frame a delicate face and, arrogant as it is, Junichi likes to think she looks like some noblewoman from one of the period dramas that show up on TV. The _butsudan_ does suggest somewhere along the way that they had blue blood in them once upon a time, after all. Much as he doesn't like to think about it given the context, he can't deny she's filled out her clothes well enough that he's sure boys' heads turn when she's doing P.E. with them.

Absurdly, he feels an instinctual overprotectiveness momentarily before it gets snuffed out as quickly as it arrives. Given who she is, and what he's seen her kind do, he should be worried about what she might do to them rather than the other way around.

"Yes?"

This is typical for her, Junichi understands. Ever since she could talk, Ayano always gave him short, clipped questions and answers. No matter how much he's tried coaxing her in the past she always defaulted to it.

"Hey, baby girl. I just wanted to check in and see how you were."

He lowers himself onto the edge of her bed slowly. He's always given her space and this time is no different. If she doesn't want to talk, then he won't force her to.

"I'm fine."

She brings her knees, clad in bright blue pajamas, to her chest, eyes cast downwards.

"How was your trip?"

"It was…" Junichi searches for how best to describe being an accomplice to murder. It's an open secret between them. Each of them knows how _she_ is but neither wants to say it out loud. "...difficult, but we got back in one piece."

"I see."

"The United States is beautiful. Traffic's a pain, especially in the cities, but you should see some of the forests they have over there in… California, that's it. Maybe someday we can go again. You know, as a family."

He really wants to say just the two of them, but Junichi has never believed in miracles and isn't about to start.

"They have these kinds of trees over there, redwoods, that're as tall as a building. Ancient too. Makes me wonder if the spirits who live in them are as old."

"Maybe."

Junichi focuses a little more clearly on his daughter. Ever since she'd been born, he'd had to learn the intricacies of her expressing herself. She never emoted but that didn't mean there wasn't a mind working things through. She was distant, even for her, as if her mind were elsewhere.

"...Something the matter?"

Ayano shifts next to him uncomfortably, her ponytail swaying with her movements, before casting him a side eye.

"Yes."

He pushes himself over to her, wrinkling the blankets underneath him as he brings a hand to her lower back and rubs as soothingly as he can. Physical contact has always been an important part of his 'therapy' for her. Junichi has never been one to tout his own accomplishments but he likes to think, at least in some small way, that it's helped impress on her the idea that touch doesn't have to be about hurting others.

"Mm…" Ayano presses her head to her knees and Junichi simply lets her sink into herself, drawing circles against the cotton of her nightshirt.

"You can tell me anything, you know."

"I know, but…"

Her normally distant, unfocused eyes meet his own and Junichi feels his hand stop moving in shock as he sees a flurry of emotion in them. Anxiety, fear, concern - all are present as she quickly looks away.

"You'll… you'll be mad."

Junichi feels his now free hand move to his collar, adjusting his tie, as he stares at the floor.

There's an inkling in the back of his mind now, something that causes his own terror to begin welling in his stomach as it spreads throughout the core of his being, as he understands just what would bring those very things that he's come to see as impossible for someone like her to the surface. He mutters curses under his breath as he puts his head in his palms, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Junichi had known what would happen if they left her alone. He'd wondered it aloud to _her_ on the eve of them leaving for America. He'd hoped against hope that, deep down, the lessons he'd try to teach her would dissuade her from finding a partner - no, a victim. The only thing that seemed to effect Aishi women on a deeper level was finding someone to sink their fangs into and never let go.

"How long ago did you meet them?"

"Ten weeks now."

The amount of expletives he wants to hurl _her_ way are so virulent that it shocks even him.

"How many others were there competing with you?"

"...Ten."

It's 1989 all over again.

Junichi, just as with everything else in his life, has failed once more.

"What's his name?" he practically hisses at her. He hardly even notices Ayano flinch in response.

"Her name is Taeko Yamada."

Junichi stands up from the bed, barely keeping his balance as he tries to steady himself against painted walls. All he can see is red. He can feel his fists clench and unclench themselves, almost involuntarily as he whirls around to look at his daughter.

"Guess I should be at least thankful that it'll all die with you, huh?" the venom seeps out of his mouth, dripping into the air as he glares at her. Gone is all the warmth he felt before setting foot in here. All Junichi can feel is a stifling chill. " **Her** name. Not that it fucking matters..."

He wants to continue his verbal barrage, to unleash everything he's had to shove down inside of himself over the years, but it dies in his throat as he stares at her. For the first time in Junichi's life he knows that Ayano understands what pain and sadness are. She has completely pulled herself back to the corner of the bed where it meets the wall, staring at him in shock as if he'd smacked her across the face.

 _You'll be mad_ , her voice echoes in his mind tauntingly.

"Ayano, I-"

Selfish.

Stupid.

Cruel.

There are other descriptions that Junichi can think of, a hundred more, but none of his mental putdowns seem adequate enough to undo his brief descent into vicious mockery. He stands there, wringing his hands lamely, finding the floor a much more interesting subject than the one person whose trust he has violated, whom he has told to look up to himself as an example of how to properly react, and, in turn, interact with the world at large.

"-I'm sorry. You didn't… I'm sorry."

Ayano still hasn't moved from her corner, normally blank features on high alert as she sits uncertain and straight against what he's sure must feel like a jail cell now. Junichi wants to turn into dust and be scattered by the wind.

"You don't trust me," the words are sharp, pointed, as if they were knives being carved into his skin.

He wonders just how apologetic he looks to her and if it will ever be enough to take back his few seconds of misplaced anger. Junichi doesn't need to say anything more; his outburst to her was enough to confirm her hypothesis.

"You're scared of me, aren't you? You think I'm going to end up like mother."

Ayano wants to hear him say it aloud. Wordlesly he sinks to his knees and for a brief moment considers his options. He has tried to protect her from the world as best he can. No matter how cruel her classmates were to the 'freak' that visited them every day, he'd been there to pick her up, clean her clothes, and kiss any scrapes they made her endure. But had it been genuine? Had he truly come to love her or was it simply in the hope that she'd be different? Dimly, Junichi can recall pondering something similar years ago when Ayano was small enough she hadn't even learned to crawl yet. The same flurry of emotion courses through him now. Junichi puts his palms on the smooth _tatami_ underneath them before pressing his forehead to it.

"You are like your mother, Ayano. You notice everything."

A beat.

"Please forgive me."

He sits there frozen like a statue for what seems like centuries as his daughter sits in judgment. 'Gentleness,' he can hear his own voice ricocheting inside his skull, 'is a virtue. It's what separates us from the animals, Ayano. Be kind to everyone if you can even if it seems as if they don't deserve it. Do what's good for the world and it will always follow you, like a shadow. I think the Buddha said that once.'

But he couldn't blame her if she decides not to. Ever since she could understand him he's impressed upon her in whispers that her mother is someone who doesn't understand gentleness or kindness. They're not in her nature. It was a path that she could find herself on someday if she wasn't careful - but then, Junichi sardonically notes, that was everyone, wasn't it? Even him. To compare her, especially after dismissing her without so much as asking what had happened was an insult so vile that it made him feel like he'd been binge drinking for a week straight.

Junichi hears the gentle rustling of fabric and the patter of bare feet against the ground as someone much smaller than he is lowers herself somewhere ahead. Even now, he does not raise himself to meet her gaze; on the off chance his apology is even accepted Junichi isn't sure he'll never live this moment down. A soft hand finds its way to his shoulder and gives him a shake.

"Yes."

That gets his attention. Junichi pushes himself up and fixes her with a hard stare.

"But what I just said…"

Ayano holds out her arms and Junichi practically falls into them. For the second time in his life, Junichi feels as if she were the parent and he the child. Her fingers dance along his back in a familiar, comforting pattern.

"I knew you'd be upset. I said so."

"I- I shouldn't have said-"

He can feel a burning sensation begin to erupt from the corners of his eyes and he doesn't even bother to stop the tears that begin to fall. He pulls her tightly against him, his grip the strongest he's ever managed against another human being, as they sit there together.

"It's okay."

The dullness of her tone is surprisingly comforting. He'd have given everything up if he could take the words back, but this is as good as he's sure to get.

"I'll always forgive you. I love you."

There are no words to describe the feeling that rushes through him in that moment. It's a phrase he's always told her but never had repeated back to him, or at least, never spoken with conviction. It was a hollow formality just like everything else that Ayano had to do to fit in. Much as he'd watched her get closer and closer to puberty with trepidation it had been exciting in a sick way. All the work he'd put in, hoping against hope it wasn't in vain, was suddenly laid before him. She had listened. Not simply doing so out of necessity, but to **learn**.

"When did you get so smart, huh?" It's a terrible attempt at humor but Junichi is tired in so many ways, not only of physical and emotional exhaustion, but a desire to steer the conversation anywhere but his lack of faith in her.

"Learned a lot, had good teachers. You, friends… Taeko."

Her eyes become unfocused and look past Junichi to wherever it is that her paramour lives in Buraza. It's a lot to unpack despite her few choices of words. The thought of Ayano bringing home another girl made him feel uneasy. Those kinds of romances were fine for flings in high school, but what proper home could be led with two wives in it? 'Not that you're one to talk,' his mind chastises him. 'Your marriage, such as it is, is anything but natural.'

'Or consensual.'

'Point taken.'

"Wait… friends?"

It's a strange, foreign word that doesn't seem to match with his daughter in the slightest. He's had more parent-teacher conferences than he'd care to count over the years about the endless litany of bullies that had plagued Ayano no matter what school they put her into. His daughter had never brought anyone home on a playdate and never went anywhere. That was simply how things were, no matter how much it made his heart ache to watch her trudge through the house everyday to sit in a room and do nothing until it was time to eat dinner and go to bed.

Ayano nods her and a ghost of a smile traces her thin lips.

"A few."

"Miss Popular, huh? You'll have to tell me… us all about it in the morning."

Ayano frowns at that, shooting him an uncertain look that, without so much as a word, asks him, 'Have you lost your mind?'

"Mother wouldn't approve."

"How d'you figure that?"

Aside, of course, from the fact that Junichi is certain has never had any genuine contact outside of her parents, and the two of them, in her entire life. There simply wasn't room in her deadened heart for anyone else.

"Met them when trying to talk to Senpai. All of them wanted to love her too. It made me really, really angry but…"

She pauses, her cheeks heating up, as she looks past him towards the door behind him.

"...I knew you'd be sad if I hurt them. How I'd look to the world. All of my friends were broken. I helped put the pieces back together."

Junichi resists the urge to break out into a fresh round of tears, though this time for far different reasons than before. They had done it. They had beaten the Aishi curse. All of his gentle reprimands, firm words of encouragement, and trying to keep her mindful had paid off. There was no way he could articulate to Ayano just how happy he was. He didn't think there were words in the Japanese language that would properly allow him to convey it either. If there was one thing that could make up for everything he'd endured then this might have very well been it. Nurture had abandoned nature to its own devices long ago.

It's his turn now to pull Ayano into an embrace so tight that he can feel her struggling to breathe. Relaxing only enough that it allows her to gasp against him for air, he gives her the widest smile he's ever worn in his entire life and certainly the largest he'd ever had since coming to his proverbial cell.

"You did it, baby girl. You have no idea how much I've wanted to hear you say something like that. You rose above and beyond."

He reaches forward, running his fingers through her soft hair. She's practically beaming at him now, the faint upturn of her lips now split into a full blown grin.

"Thank you for believing in me."

"I always tried to."

It's a small lie just for the two of them. She had seen his mask slip only a few minutes ago and there hadn't been a day where he hadn't second guessed himself on if it was ever going to be worth it in the end, but it's okay. Everything was fresh and new to Ayano but if tonight had been any indication then Junichi is sure everything will be alright. She will grow up into the woman that he dreamed she could be.

'No,' he corrects himself. 'The woman she wants to be.'

His mental appraisal is broken by Ayano glancing toward the nearby clock on her dresser, gasping at its digital display before she looks back at him apologetically.

"Should sleep. Tomorrow I'm meeting Megami to talk about student council business."

Junichi blinks. Ayano truly is a fount of surprises, that's for sure.

"Student council? The one headed by the Saikou girl?"

"I'm the 'student council historian.'"

Junichi was actually thinking of the fact that she was 1) directly related to one of the most powerful and richest men on the planet and 2) didn't know it was possible for someone's father to have their hair contain that much styling gel.

"What d'you do?"

Ayano gives him a shrug and picks herself up, lifting the blanket and snuggling under the covers of her bed.

"Transcribe things. Think she just made it up, honestly."

Seems she'd also inherited her father's penchant for making redundant and/or useless departmental positions at any rate.

"Wouldn't want to miss that, I'm sure. Night, baby girl."

After a sleepily mumbled 'goodnight' from his daughter, Junichi leaves her room behind him, flicking off the light on his way out, and gently closing the door. Without so much as a second thought opens the room across the hall. _Her_ slumbering form looks almost peaceful laying underneath the purple sheets of their bed. It's moments like this, if he lets his mind fade into a static backdrop free of any preconceptions of his captor, he might even be able to appreciate _her_ physical form. The equally purple nightgown _she_ loves to wear always leaves little to the imagination, as always.

Undressing is mechanical for Junichi and he briefly considers not even bothering with anything at all, but decides discretion is the better part of valor and opts to put on a simple cotton t-shirt and sweatpants instead. After all, the former would only be seen as an invitation and perhaps _she'd_ finally make good on the threat in his memory of a new sibling for Ayano. But not even the thought of fatherhood, forced on him just as with everything else in his life for the past three decades, is enough to wipe the smile from Junichi Fukunaga's face as he drifts off to sleep.


End file.
